Texture
by sfiddy
Summary: Belle discovers what's under all that silk and leather. Dark Castle. Very Descriptive. PWP. No regrets.


Tumblr posts on or around 3/13/14 discussed what I know what we've all wondered: How far down do those scales go?

I'm not kidding. The ensuing back and forth made this happen.

* * *

Moments in the workroom, the main hall, and the kitchen boiled over into this moment. The chaise lounge skidded roughly as Rumplestiltskin scrambled to get closer, and Belle's book fell with a ruffling slap to the stone floor.

"Would you really, Belle?" He breathed against her neck, leaving a tingling coolness across heating skin. "With a monster?"

His kisses were potent, driving her into a dizzy grab at his finery. "You are a man." She knew his façade, he wore it as both parody and shield. "No more and no less."

With her bodice loosened, she could kiss longer. His smooth lips could glide along hers, trace against her neck, skate the edge of her sheer chemise, and suckle at her lower lip. When her mouth opened, his slick tongue delicately questioned the places where lips transitioned from silk to velvet, seen to unseen.

His hair in her hands, soft and crushable. She gathered it in a handful at his neck and dipped into his mouth as he huffed a breath through his nose. Helpless, desperate sounds echoed off stone walls as he pushed her bodice away. His hands, pebbled with strange texture, grazed her wrinkled chemise and bared her shoulders and the tops of her breasts.

A fold or two of chemise was hardly going to hide her from his eyes, she knew.

He leaned back on his heels, still kneeling before the chaise where she was splayed, legs tangled in her skirts.

"What a beauty you are." His eyes drifted over her, lingering on the dark points beneath the chemise. "You sully yourself with a beast's touch."

"A man." She replied and pushed his stiff collar back, and dragged her fingertips down his neck to the deep cut in his silk shirt. "A man's touch." His chest was smooth, yet textured like his hands, and her curious fingers roamed under the silk to his collarbones, then down.

Rumplestiltskin shuddered, eyes never leaving her face, both captivated by her and observing. It wasn't hard to understand- he was watching for her rejection, recognition of him as unclean or unlike somehow. Unworthy, undesirable.

The fascinating ridge of his nipple, the smooth halo around it, and the return of the fine bumps beyond were unlikely to stop her. He pressed himself into her hand, seeking her touch even as remained poised to spring away.

Knowing this test had to be passed, for the moment would never come again, Belle licked her lips and looked into his eyes. "You are magnificent." To prove it, she pulled at the button that kept her from exploring him beyond those few scant inches. When he leaned forward, his belly against the chaise and next to her legs, she unbuttoned the shirt and tugged it from his over-tailored leather.

Light danced over tiny flat plates, reflecting the mix of colors from the stained glass above and the warm candlelight. Belle exhaled in wonder. "You are… armored."

"In many ways, sweet." He murmured, taking her hand from his belly to kiss her palm. There was no strict line where the textures changed, merely blending into contours that caught her eye, emphasizing the movement of sinew and roll of muscle. This strange skin twitched and trembled under her touch. It was only when she toyed with the laces of his leather trousers that he jerked away.

"Lady, it does not end. I am beast from head to tail," his nostrils flared. "And all points in between."

She'd been reading on her side, so her skirts were tucked under her, binding her legs. Rather than reach for him first, she straightened her skirts and slid one leg up until she could hook her toes behind his back. With a soft grunt, he let her pull him forward, his body filling the space between her parted legs, pushing at her layers of skirts.

She was here forever; the genteel captive of a mysterious being who spun gold and quietly lit candles in solitude, yet pranced to mete out blessings and curses on his dubious patrons.

She scooted forward. "Show me."

Eyes fluttering, he moaned as she tucked her fingers under the leather and pulled him by his laces. She was practically bare from the waist up herself. He stared at her hand, starkly white against him, and followed to her wrist, arm, shoulder, one barely covered breast, and finally her face.

Those strange eyes fixed upon her, his arms limp at his sides, fingers twitching as if unable to begin. She pulled the knot free for him, loosening his ties as he had done for her. His hands joined hers and he gently pushed her hands away. Belle untied the wraps for her skirt and let it fall into a pile on the floor. Ruffles of blue heaped with the eyelet underskirt alongside the chaise.

Rumplestiltskin nudged his trousers down, his smooth scales smaller across his lower belly, but he was still hidden from her view, obscured by the veil of her chemise pulled tight across her knees. The heaving in his torso paused as the bottom edge of the chemise rose over her knees.

"Belle," he breathed. Those hands, finely grained, skidded over her knees and around, barely grazing the backs of her thighs and knees until she shuddered, then pulled the skirts up further.

He was unlike any man she'd ever seen before, not the fishermen who stripped before diving after lost nets, nor the soldiers who scraped the grime of patrols off in the pond beneath her window, yet he was exactly as she would have him. A pad of raised scales rooted his sex, crowned with tiny overlapping scales the color of new rosebuds destined to bloom red.

When she looked up, Rumplestiltskin's gaze was fixed between her legs. The chemise was high on her thighs, exposing the fine undergarments beneath clinging to her every shape. They slid them off together, tossing them atop her skirts.

"Sweet, I am no man." He no longer made an effort to hide himself. "You would have this?" He clenched his jaw, grinding out the words. "Hold it within you?"

Belle reached, tentatively touching, and slid her hand down the shaft. Firm ridges lined it to the base, and she smiled, and then drew her hand back.

She gasped.

The scales were overlapped, not simple plates here. Were she to pull away during the act, it would be painful for him, maybe even impossible. They would be physically bound together by the organ that bobbed eagerly in her hand.

There would be none of the bruising thrusts that her maids had complained of, no demonstrations of prowess by forcing her into uncomfortable acrobatics. He would have to be careful with her for his own sake; though their time together made her sure she had nothing to fear.

He looked miserable, but when he tried to tuck himself away, she held firm.

"Come to me, Rumple."

The chaise creaked as he climbed up to join her. He stroked her thighs as they kissed, this time her tongue darting at the seam of lips to coax, their breathing fast. Those hands of his, lean and clever, petted her until she rubbed herself into his palm, licking at his mouth and feeling the way the smooth plates on his back slid as he worked her.

Suddenly, he rolled and lifted her up, taking her place on the chaise. He laid on his back, his cock jutting up. She straddled him, held in place by his hand. With the other he gripped himself and stroked her, parting her and teasing.

"Let me please you, Belle." So she hovered, only bending her knees to get more of him, pushing the pace, until she felt his hand on her rear pushing her down.

The ridges made sparks dance behind her eyes. When she rested her full weight on him the raised pad against her pushed back, bumping the swollen bud between her legs.  
Rumplestiltskin was gasping, moaning, and writhing beneath her. "Oh please, please Belle. Move with me!"

His hands clamped her down, then pulled. The wetness between them squished as she slid forward, then he pushed her back. The pad bumped her again.

"Oh, gods," she whimpered. For a moment, it was too much. She tried to raise up, but a cry from beneath made her stop.

"I'm sorry!" She whimpered.

"No, no. I'm sorry. I'm ugly and… and this." He grimaced.

She leaned forward, careful to stay steady, and kissed him, suckling his lip, and drew his tongue into her mouth. He stilled, holding her tight, and arched his hips up. Every pulse made her legs quiver and her vision blur.

"Guide me, Rumple." She put her hands over his and encouraged his grasp. "Show me how."

"I… I can only show you how I-"

She took his lips again. "Show me."

The scales in his abdomen rippled as he pulled her forward, sliding her along the raised pad and back again. Her whimpers and moans grew louder as the pressure, rhythm, and heat engulfed her from their joining to the roots of her hair. A fever bloomed across her body, urged on by his rough grunts and needy cries.

It grew hotter, bigger, coiling tighter until it released, blinding her with brightness behind her eyes and unable to breath. She clutched at his chest, shoulders, forearms until she felt the chaise beneath them crack, dumping them onto the floor, sweating and glowing in each other's arms.

The cool stone on her knees was a welcome contrast as she panted to catch her breath, still gripping a slickly scaled forearm in one hand and pushing her piles of curls from her face with the other.

As he recovered, his sides, like iron as she rode him, softened. He felt so human, warm, and relaxed, though his face reflected fear again.

"I told you, lady," he said lightly, trying to don the showman again. "I'm a monster."

She looked into his alien eyes, gentler now and maybe even a little kind. "No. You love as a man." She raised her body and he slid away, his cock softened and glistening. "A man I love."

* * *

Ummm... There's that. Yes. There is official lizard scale fetish smut now. Sorry (not sorry).


End file.
